The Upper Room
by watchmaker1331
Summary: Anthony, Thomas, and Gwen sit silently around the radio in the upper room, listening in stunned silence as their civilization tumbles into ruin. What can anyone do to resist it?A story response to Margaret Atwood's THE HANDMAID'S TALE.


a skeleton-based paper i did for my Great Books class after we read _The Handmaid's Tale_. the skeleton is pretty much garbage, so i haven't bothered attaching it to the end. the gist of skeleton format, essentially, is that you write a 3.5 essay in story format, answering a question you think the book addresses. my question was "Is resistence usless?"

and here are my answers.

wm

* * *

They sat around the card table, the three of them, memorizing each other's stunned faces. The radio buzzed between them, unheard, its damage done. They knew the Revival was coming. They knew the time had come.

Anthony stood first, his tie askew. "I'll grab the guns, you call the others. If we hurry, we can make it to Washington by morning."

Thomas looked up from his hands and starred. "You can't be serious. Even if we had the man-power for that sort of assault, even with the proper planning…We wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Better to be gunned down fighting for what you believe than cowering here in this cursed room while your world is overrun!" Anthony shouted, slamming his fist on the table and making the radio jump. The sound of voices through the static silenced them, and they both turned toward it in alarm. Gwen turned the knob slightly, trying to clear the signal. The static whined to an unbearable pitch, and then vanished, leaving behind the scraggly sounds of a distant dispatch.

"…_our last transmission until we are able to reach safer ground. Stay safe, stay low, and stay on course for the North. We'll be waiting for you there. Polaris, signing off."_

There was a soft _click_ before the pirated channel returned to its usual fare, a sappy pre-War ballad about "high school lovin'". Anthony unclenched his fist slowly. Gwen looked up at him.

"No way, Gwen. You know how many hoaxes and fakes we've heard over the years, how many…"

"It's a trap. No way would the Revival be clumsy enough to let a message like that slip through their nets," interrupted Thomas, shaking his head as though scolding a toddler.

"Polaris, Anthony!" Gwen whispered intently, twirling the dial in search of a new frequency. They caught snatches of music, news, and the rabid shouting of the government paid personalities. Anthony reached out at grabbed her wrist gently.

"Even if he's real—and I'm not saying he isn't," he said, glaring at Thomas, "there's no way you'd ever find him. Besides, Polaris has been around since the beginning of the War, and what has he ever done? What's changed because of him? You have to stay here with us and fight, Gwen. We'll march on Washington, there are enough of us, if we can't make our voices heard, then at least they'll hear our guns!"

Now Thomas stood, sweeping the radio to the floor with a resounding crash. "Don't be a fool! Their army is too large, too well-stocked, and too brain-washed. Not even Europe can help us now, even if they wanted to. The best thing to do now is wait and watch…a movement with this small of a power base will burn out all too quickly, and then…"

"And then? You and your Political Sciences degree aren't going to help us here!" Anthony shouted back at him, spittle flying in the dim light of the attic lamps. "We MUST act! They've been gnawing away at our rights since the beginning; first the schools close, then our suffrage is suspended, our assets are seized, and—you heard them! They're taking the children next!"

"You don't have any children!" Thomas exploded, then stopped, breathing heavily and trembling. "There's nothing you can do about it, Anthony! Protests only serve their purpose in open democracies, and rarely even then. If you march out their now with your multitudes, you'll be gunned down in the street like the kids on the news." He pointed to the plastic pieces of radio scattered across the knotted floor. "If you want to be another sound bite, go ahead and storm Washington. If you want your rights back, you should try to _survive_ long enough for all of this to blow over!"

"There's another way," Gwen said gently, pushing the furious men apart from one another. "Even if Polaris isn't real—no, listen!" she said, giving Thomas a dark look. "Even if he isn't real, the idea is still there. There still resistance. The Revival hasn't secured most of the northwest; the Eastern Camp is still fighting to recover Chicago and rebel strongholds in Colorado are holding back their forces from the West Coast." She scratched a rough map in the table, marking the front lines. "This whole area in between is still free land. With our network and our resources, we could smuggle…" she starred at the ceiling, making calculations, "somewhere around forty people out a week!" Her eyes were already immersed in preparations, her mind working rapidly with figures and lists. "We could funnel them through our contacts in the Appalachians…"

"The trip from here in Langley to the Chicago front is seven hundred miles, minimum, and swarming with the Revival. The first escapee they capture would give them a direct line to us, and from there to our whole network! This whole system simply isn't feasible!" said Thomas, burying his face in his hands.

"It wouldn't be if we merged with Polaris's network."

"He's not REAL, Gwen!" Thomas groaned into his hands, dragging them down his long face in exasperation. "If anything, he's a trap, a way the Revival can weed out the dissenters. And even if he were real—and I'm not saying he is—you heard the transmission. 'Our last transmission until we reach safer ground.' Who knows when that would be! Their hideout might be overrun as we sit here!"

"Which is exactly why we have to do something!" Anthony cried, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and running a hand through his disheveled hair. "If the Revival wants a fight, we'll give 'em one." He flung the attic door open and lowered the ladder. He turned to climb down, looking back up at them a final time. "The rest of us will leave at nightfall. You have until then to join us." He blinked twice, then descended, leaving the door wide behind him.

They sat there for a moment, breathing in the mustiness of the old attic. Gwen sank into her chair with a _whuff_, a wave of dust rising from the moldy cushion. Thomas fidgeted for a moment, then rose, gathering his briefcase. He leaned over and kissed Gwen lightly on the cheek.

"I'm going home. You do what you think is best," he said quietly, then turned and followed Anthony down the ladder. Gwen listened silently until his paten-leather footsteps receded, staring blankly at the open trap door.

She got up and walked over to it. She grasped the handle tightly and heaved it shut. A pillow of air carried it softly into its jam, cutting off the light from the corridor below. Like the lid of a coffin.

She returned to the table and bent down, picking up the pieces of the shattered radio. Out of her purse she pulled a set of Phillips-head screwdrivers and a small roll of tape. Then she set to work.

"…_rioters today…ninety-seven rebels led by Anthony Hesburg…empted thanks to information from the valued Revival Party Member Thomas Swift…will receive Medal of Commend...other news, the insurgent leader 'Polaris' apprehend…his naval base on Lake Michigan…along with 347 other rebels…for the televised execution. Party News, signing off. God Bless the Reviv…"_

She tightened the last bolt, then turned the knob. She lowered the jury-rigged microphone towards her lips, then pressed the transmission key with a shaking finger.

"Free America, this is Polaris."


End file.
